Sano received the news with less relief than he’d expected, because so far every inquiry had led to Yanagisawa. “Thank you, Aoi,” he said, trying to sound pleased. “I’ll interview Madam Shimizu tomorrow morning.” He hoped that whatever she’d seen wouldn’t provide the final, incontrovertible evidence that would condemn him to death.

Hesitantly Aoi said, “What did you learn today?”

Sano told her, all the while wondering why she’d changed toward him. “O-tama’s story strengthens Yanagisawa’s motive,” he finished. “Wild Boar’s ties the assassin to him. And I didn’t find any evidence against Chūgo or Matsui.”

“Then you’ll arrest Chamberlain Yanagisawa soon?”

Sano turned away from her innocent, hurtful eagerness. She didn’t guess what form Yanagisawa’s execution would take-and he couldn’t tell her.

“Not until I have solid proof of his guilt,” he said.

Although she didn’t move, he felt her shrink from him. Disappointment darkened her eyes. He could forgive her for wishing Yanagisawa’s downfall, and her freedom, but he couldn’t deny the pain of knowing that both could only be bought with his own life. Yearning to bridge the barrier of heritage that separated them, he lifted his hand from the water. She stepped back before it touched her cheek. In the awkward silence, steam rose around them like a physical manifestation of their unhappiness. Then Sano understood the reason for her distant behavior.

She’d reconsidered the wisdom of helping him, and now regretted it. She realized the danger their relationship posed to her, with every day adding to the risk of Yanagisawa’s learning about their collusion. Terrified for her family and herself, she wanted to end their liaison, but feared hurting him.

Guilt and sorrow flooded Sano. He knew what he must do, but couldn’t bear to let her go. Perhaps unwisely, he let his heart voice the message his mind ordered him to deliver.

“My father followed the ancient samurai practice of familiarizing one’s sons with the phenomenon of death, to desensitize them so that they would grow up unafraid of it and thus willing to die in battle for their lord. During my fifth year he began taking me to funerals to watch cremations. In my sixth year he instructed the priests at Zōjō Temple to let me spend nights alone in the cemetery. And when I was seven he started taking me to the execution ground to see the rotting corpses and severed heads. He did this until I reached manhood at fifteen.

“ ‘A samurai must keep constantly in mind the fact that he has to die,’ he would tell me. ‘And you must neither feel nor show fear of death.’ ”

Sano laughed grimly, remembering. “I got part of the lesson right. I never showed fear. My father was proud of what he thought was my courage. But I never told anyone that the funerals gave me nightmares about being burned alive, or that those nights in the cemetery were the longest of my life because I heard ghosts moaning in the trees and thought they would tear me to pieces. I never told anyone that after a trip to the execution ground I would wash myself over and over to remove the spiritual pollution that I believed would kill me. And I’ve never told anyone how much I still fear death-”

Sano caught himself. He hadn’t meant to confess his cowardice. Yet, as before, Aoi had provoked in him the need to reveal thoughts that a samurai wasn’t supposed to have. No one else listened with such understanding, or allowed him the emotional release he sought from the unbending stoicism he must show the world. Now he hastened to the point of his story.

“Aoi. It’s a samurai’s duty to deny fear and emotion, and to accept death. But it’s not yours. You’ve risked your safety and your family’s to do something for which I can never repay you, or forgive myself.”

Dragging out the next words was like uprooting pieces of his soul. “You’re free to go. Tell Yanagisawa I refused to see you. I’ll never reveal what you did for me. I promise.”

Because I love you. He averted his eyes to hide his sadness and avoid seeing the relief in hers. For both of them, duty must prevail over romance. His own personal code of honor wouldn’t let him imperil her further. His only comfort came from knowing that he might not live to suffer long from her departure.

Then he heard a rustle; the tub’s ladder creaked; the water rose to his chin. In surprise, he looked up to see that Aoi had undressed and climbed into the tub beside him.

“Hold me,” she whispered.

She wasn’t leaving him! Sano’s sorrow rocketed into joy, but he knew he mustn’t give in to it. “Aoi, no,” he said.

“Shh.” She put a finger to his lips. Her own trembled; tears welled in her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Sano pleaded.

Her only answer was a vehement shake of the head. She straddled him, and, yielding to desire, he let her. Buoyed by the water, she seemed almost weightless. He succumbed to the urge to run his hands over her shoulders, breasts, and hips, to draw her spread thighs closer around his waist. The warm, oily water gave her smooth skin a delicious slickness. With their bodies’ contact, intimacy returned. Aoi’s fingers traced his features with a tenderness she’d never expressed in words. She accepted his caresses with a passionate abandon that told him she was giving him her self, and not just her body. Sano’s earlier fear and distrust evaporated like the steam around them. With a moan, he pulled her down onto his erection.

In a rush of intoxicating pleasure, he slid into her. The scented water made him dizzy; the beauty of her face against the lush backdrop of falling cherry blossoms swelled his throat. Restraining his urgency, he raised and lowered her with deliberate slowness; she sighed. This gentle, sensuous coupling couldn’t possibly have been more different from last night’s mutual assault. Sano realized that theirs was a union that could encompass the extremes of emotion-joy and sadness, pain and pleasure, love and hatred, tenderness and violence. His heart mourned as he remembered that it had to end.

Aoi seemed to share his bitter knowledge. She was weeping openly now, even as they moved ever faster together. Her final cry mingled grief with pleasure. Sano moaned in the rapture of his own climax. They clung to each other, and when she pressed her cheek to his, he couldn’t distinguish her tears from his own. He tried to believe that as long as they remained together thus, the moment would last forever.

Too soon the water cooled, forcing Sano to acknowledge the passage of time. Reluctantly he released Aoi.

“I have to go,” he said.

Climbing out of the tub, he dried himself on a towel, noting with relief that he could again move with ease.

“Wait.” Aoi also clambered from the water, hastily drying and dressing herself. “You need your medicines first.”

Once again Sano sensed that air of distracted tension about her. Distrust returned, stronger this time; but she was right. His bruises still ached; without treatment, he would again grow too stiff and sore to move, let alone complete his night’s work.

“All right,” he said. He accompanied her to the bedchamber and lay down on the futon. “But hurry.”

“I’ll make the room warm for you… ” Aoi’s voice was muffled as she turned her back to him and bent over the sunken charcoal brazier. Rising, she hurried to the door.

“Aoi. Wait. Don’t go.” Sano had to find out what was troubling her, and to reestablish contact.

Over her shoulder, she said, “Rest now, and I’ll be right back with the herbs and potions… ”

… and closed the door behind her, leaving Sano to worry about the future. Would he fulfill his duty and his promises? Would he catch Yanagisawa in the act of murder? Must he execute the chamberlain, then take his own life tonight? If not, would fate allow him to arrest Chūgo or Matsui for the murders before his two days were up? How many more nights would he and Aoi have together? Too anxious to relax, Sano stared up at the ceiling. But soon, to his surprise, his eyelids drooped. Realizing that he must have underestimated his fatigue, or the sedative effects of hot water and sex, he struggled to stay alert. But great, irresistible waves of drowsiness washed over him.